


Exhale

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, F/M, Ficlet, mild power dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 16:04:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15174332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: When her husband’s not available, his retainer is.





	Exhale

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own FFXV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

After a long day of public speeches and dull ceremony, Lunafreya’s glad to be _home_. The capitol’s palace welcomes her in with wide open doors, and the milling crowd of admirers is left at the gates, even her ever-present guards falling out of step behind her. The palace is a safe zone, one where she can feel _free_ , even if it is within the confines of a gilded cage. Lunafreya doesn’t mind that part. The palace has everything she needs.

She loosens the high collar of her white dress as she takes her place inside the elevator. The sun has been grueling, and while it hasn’t _quite_ glued her clothing to her flesh, her fitted outfit does feel a fraction too tight. She needs to untie it. She needs to pull the braid out of her hair, to pluck the earrings away, and to climb out of her tall stilettos. The elevator clicks onto her floor, and Lunafreya strolls for her quarters.

She knows as soon as she enters them that Noctis isn’t there. She strolls through their sprawling array of too-large rooms anyway. Her husband can be a quiet man, prone more to sleep than outbursts, but his presence is undeniable, and she can tell it isn’t there. But after seeing all her eager citizens calling for her, reaching out for even the slightest touch of her, she’s longing for the kind of touch that very few can give her. Sometimes all that publicity, all that frenzied worship, only serves to make her feel all the more isolated—distanced, lonely. She needs to be held and treasured not as the Lucian queen, not as the Oracle, but just as _Lunafreya_.

With her husband away, that leaves only one option. Hair still immaculate and feet still painfully strapped into her shoes, Lunafreya marches back towards the elevator. She doesn’t make it beyond her quarters—a knock calls her first, sounding from the entry door that lets out into the rest of the floor’s long hallway.

She already knows who it is. She recognizes the short, measured knock. Sure enough, when she answers it, she finds Ignis waiting in the doorway. He’s likely been every bit as busy as her, if not busier, but his presentation is still flawless—everything from the shine of his black boots to the press of his black jacket to the coif of his ash-brown hair. He meets her with a formal bow, and even before he’s finished straightening, she asks, “Where is my husband?”

When he’s risen again, he answers, “He has been delayed in his talks with the council, Your Majesty.” Lunafreya lifts a brow, because when has Ignis ever neglected to attend such meetings himself? But then Ignis explains himself: “Please, forgive me for any presumption on my part. But he has sent me to see to your... ‘needs.’” He says the last word carefully, delicately, as though they haven’t done this a hundred times and won’t a hundred more. Accepting the role isn’t presumptuous. It’s just what Lunafreya needs. 

She offers a gentle smile that can’t possibly convey all that—her acceptance and pleasure at it, and her gratitude. She tells him, “Thank you, Ignis.” And she leaves unspoken that his offer is more than enough.

The hallway is empty, but Lunafreya is still appropriately subtle as she hooks her finger under his lapel, lightly guiding him forward rather than yanking him in. He shuts the door behind himself, sealing off their privacy. Lunafreya can finally slip out of her shoes, and as soon as she’s done so, she tugs Ignis down by his crisp collar and meets him for a kiss. By now, her want is soaked in desperation, but she’s practiced enough restraint in her life to keep her actions chaste. Ignis bends to assist her, keeping it just as light. He doesn’t touch her any more than that, though Noctis’ arms would be tight around her. 

Ignis isn’t Noctis. He kisses her with more reverence but less fire, and it’s different but equally fulfilling. She lets it linger, enjoying several nips and licks before she finally settles back down on her heels. He straightens again, tall and handsome, patiently awaiting her command. For a moment, she just looks on and admires him—his tight, toned body, and the way that his clothes hug him so enticingly. Then she begins to undress him.

Ignis is a perfect gentleman for her—or maybe the perfect _plaything_ , calm and docile, yet strong and stoic, holding himself at attention as she brushes the dark jacket from his shoulders. He lets her push it back until it topples to the ground, where it will remain until he later returns to pick it up. Unlike the way he cares for Noctis, this is the only way that Ignis ever has to pick up after Lunafreya. She adds more for him to do. She works the buttons of his purple coeurl-patterned shirt open one by one, until the silken fabric is fluttering to the floor. She can’t help but splay her fingers across the chiseled chest that’s left behind. Ignis has always looked good shirtless.

Ignis sucks in a breath and does no more as she plays with him—rubs down the faint outlines of his six-pack, caresses his sides and pinches his nipples. She has her fun, and then she reaches for his belt, unclasping it and tugging it slowly free of all the loops. She drops it and tells him, “Get out of your shoes.”

He steps out of them smoothly, without hesitation. It leaves him in just his pants and glasses, looking ripe and ready for the taking. She can’t help telling him, “You are a _very_ good servant, Ignis. The best that I could ask for.”

Ignis doesn’t smile, exactly, but she can see the pride that shines in his eyes. She can practically hear his pulse quicken. She knows it always does when he’s given praise. She continues, “You are so loyal and obedient, and you have always served both my husband and me well.” 

She can see the _pleasure_ lance through him. He murmurs, “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Smiling, she thinks of telling him he can drop the title. She’s often enjoyed the way Noctis will whisper, _“Luna,”_ into her ear at night, buried deep inside her, holding on and speaking like she’s the only girl he’s ever loved, and it wouldn’t matter if she were a princess or a peasant—he’d still moan her name just the same. But Ignis seems to like the way her title rolls so well off his tongue, and she can’t bring herself to rob him of that. 

She brings him through the many open rooms, tugging at his empty belt loop like hooks on a collar, waiting for her leash. She things Noctis has those things, tucked away just for Ignis, and she could use them if she liked. Everything that was his is now _theirs_. But she needs Ignis too much right now to waste time searching through drawers, so they remain without accessories. She brings him to her bed and pushes him down onto it. His back hits the enormous mattress with a slight bounce, but he lies where he was put. She climbs up to join him.

His hands rise to steady her as she straddles his lap, but he does no more than that—his grip rests tentatively on her hips, not nervous, just ready to drop if she commands it. He’ll do whatever she commands. And some days she’ll say _harder_ , touch her in more places, grab her and make her _feel_. But tonight she leaves him lying there, pretty and _so_ useful.

She opens his fly with deft precision. She reaches inside to pull him out, him already slightly hard but dry beneath her lithe fingers. He’s long if not particularly thick, somewhat arched but straighter as he hardens, which doesn’t take long with the way she looks at him—the unspoken order heavy in her eyes. He always obeys her. She keeps him in one palm, fingers lightly caressing him, while the other hand dips into his pocket. A condom waits there, as it always does. He knows just what he’s for. And as she tears it open, that familiar thought nags at her again. She tosses the packaging away and murmurs, “You have always attended Noctis and me so well, Ignis; you fulfill every one of our whims, allowing yourself to be used for our explicit pleasure.”

Ignis doesn’t answer. She looks up at him as she begins to roll the condom down over his cock. His eyes are on the ceiling. She knows it isn’t shame or disinterest in her—merely his way of keeping control. Or maybe shadowing his own desires. That’s just what she wonders. She asks, “But what do _you_ want?”

For a moment, Ignis is silent. His hands are still against her hips, knuckles ever so slightly tense as she plays with his upright cock. It isn’t until she hums, “Ignis,” that he looks at her.

Then he slowly answers, voice whisper-quiet, “To be used.”

A smile tugs at Lunafreya’s lips. Noctis told her that once, when they were young and new, and she was still unsure about taking another man insider her despite how much she wanted him, how much Noctis promised it was _okay_ , and how hard Ignis was for her. It’s good to hear it now when their trust is so strong. But it’s also a subtle disappointment, because she wants to give him so much more than what she already does. 

This, at least, she’ll keep giving him. She lifts over his cock, rolls her panties down her thighs, and settles onto him. The languid, blissful moan he makes is music to her ears. 

She uses him until there’s nothing left, and her beloved husband returns to join them.


End file.
